Menu

Uncategorized

Tonight the younger boys’ school had roller skating with Santa and I took them and the She-Beast. Combined number of times the three of them have been roller skating? One.

As third and fourth graders, the boys do NOT need mom to help them skate…even though they CLEARLY do. But I am very supportive of independence. And for opportunities to take videos of them falling, so I was good with that. The She-Beast decided that she wanted no part of skating, which meant I was to have no part of skating, and I am totally supportive of that too. So things were going swimmingly.

I’ve never quite bonded with the other parents. Mostly because I have never quite met most of them. With five kids (one with mental illness), me with anxiety, kids who really never joined anything, and the fact that we have never been big fans of sleepovers (unless they are at your house- those we are all for), I have missed that window with the boys. The other parents have their groups and it is pretty impossible to break through that wall.

No biggie, She-Beast and I were having a grand time playing old video games and stuffing our faces with nachos when it happened. The ONE parent I know. The Mouth’s best friend’s dad. We smile and wave and feel the need to speak to one another since our children are such great friends. But we really don’t KNOW each other. Not “be ourselves” know each other. So as we chat, I keep repeating to myself “Don’t say fuck. Don’t say fuck. Don’t embarrass The Mouth. This parent takes him to do all kinds of fun stuff you are too lazy to do! Do NOT ruin this for him”….aaannnddd he asks if She-Beast is going to skate….

“Nope. She was all about it until we got here and then she was all ‘Fuck this shit. I’m eating nachos and playing games!'”

Seriously?

Not ONLY do I drop an F bomb, I do it impersonating my four year old. Because everyone knows, THAT is how all four year olds talk.

Let’s be clear- IF my daughter ever actually said that, I would NEVER have shared it with anyone because THAT would make me a horrible parent. Somehow though, it is perfectly okay in my world to PRETEND that she spews profanities like her ABC’s. At special events involving Santa Claus and elementary school children.

I am pretty sure that I just made the naughty list. I am so sorry Santa. I do try to be good, I just really, really, really like to cuss.

I’m not a fan of guns. I have no burning desire to own or handle one. I don’t like being around one. Every time there is a mass shooting, everyone starts arguing over how to stop the “senseless violence” and gun control. We don’t need to control the guns. They just sit there. Until they are in the hands of the mentally ill. The mentally ill that we as a country REFUSE to treat. REFUSE to help. Thankfully most of you will never know what it is like to have a mentally ill child. Most of you will never be told by the professionals that yes, they understand that your child is violent and is a danger to your other children but unfortunately since they are not CURRENTLY attempting to hurt them (in that moment), there is nothing they can do. You will never have a psychiatric facility tell you that yes, they know that a few weeks is not enough time to actually help your child, but since they have followed the strict structure and have not attacked anyone in the last couple of days, insurance won’t pay any longer. You will never experience the elation of finally finding a facility that could possibly help….and then the letdown when you find that they cost upwards of $100,000 a year…..and don’t accept insurance. You won’t ever experience threatening- yes THREATENING- the professionals that if they send your child home knowing they are a danger and something happens, you will come for them- legally, through the media, whatever it takes- just to squeeze another month of services out of them. You won’t experience a therapist agreeing with you, shame and guilt in their face that YES, your child needs help but due to regulations, insurance, “privacy laws”, there is nothing they can do to help. But you might just know the anguish of a losing a child to a child like mine. A child we have desperately tried to get the help he needs- sometimes succeeding, sometimes not. We parents of mentally ill children are often villified- looked on as overly strict, overbearing, pushy, unrealistic. We may seem like we are freaking out over the smallest of issues. But we are trying to not only save our families, but yours as well. Mentally ill children who are not able to get the services they need, can very easily turn into mentally ill adults who kill. Are all mentally ill people dangerous? Of course not. But some are. And more could be under the right circumstances. I don’t like guns, but we don’t need gun control or gun laws. We need mental health CARE!!!

So here we are, a year later and I am just now writing a second post. It is quite possible that I am doing this wrong.

In my defense, I have five children. Five. From teenager to toddler. To me, five children should be a valid excuse for everything up to and including stabbing people in the face with pointy objects. It’s not, but it should be because when a person has more than two, they just aren’t fully sane anymore. It isn’t their fault. These things are sneaky. They come out all cute and sweet and wonderful. And then they aren’t. And you miss cute and sweet and wonderful, so you have another one….or four. And they keep coming out all perfect and lovely….and then they turn into little monsters and you are stuck with them. A lot of them. You are outnumbered by creatures of the dark with more energy than you can imagine. And they are hungry. At different times.

You have all these plans before you have children on what kind of a parent you are going to be. You are going to do crafts and sing songs and read books. You listen to your friends talking about storytime or see them posting pictures of the gingerbread villages their children made on a rainy afternoon and you look over at your child eating their books. Eating them. All of them. And you think to yourself that this can’t be right…but it is. And that dream you had of one day, your little angel, no longer little, sitting there with their own little angels, reading the exact same book that you saved from their childhood and remembering snuggling with you and you can picture them wiping a tear of joy for remembering how special that moment was, dies. By being eaten.

When you have one, or even two children, they are dressed nicely even to play outside. Once you get to five, they probably look homeless. And you don’t care. At least they are dressed. As long as everything that needs to be covered is covered, that day is counted as a win and you move along. On days that they look especially bad, you might pretend that you don’t know the homeless midgets that are following you around the store asking you to buy them things, but even then, that day is still counted as a win. They are dressed.

So, back to the original point of this entire post. I’ve been busy. With homeless midgets who eat books. Or something. But since TWO PEOPLE started following me, I felt like I should post at least SOMETHING, even if it was only something explaining why I was not posting anything. Which, if I did not already know I was more than a little crazypants, would make me worry about my sanity. Who feels pressured by two random people who somehow found my first blog and decided to follow it, even after nothing being posted in a year? Which makes me wonder about their state of mind as well. But only wondering, no judgements. So anyway, hopefully I will post more for my loyal(ish) followers. And hopefully I will be funny. Or interesting. Or something.

So….yeah. Another mommy blog. But not JUST another mommy blog- nope. Because, well……yeah. I’m THAT mommy. You know, the one you see in the grocery store yelling at her kids, inviting other shoppers to just ram said children with their carts when they won’t get out of the way (why hasn’t anyone taken me up on this offer yet?!?! I want to ram kids with the cart ALL the time and no one has ever given me permission- I would be ON that in 2.2 seconds). Have you ever seen the mom who tells her children not to worry about getting kidnapped because ten minutes after they are taken, the kidnappers would bring them back with an apology and fifty bucks for my “trouble”? Yeah. I’m THAT mommy. The mom who often ponders the benefits of tasering her children and thinks it should no longer be frowned upon? Yeah…..you get the picture.

Anyhoo. Meet the family- we have the boys: The Teen (15), The Almost Teen (11), The Mouth (8), and The Sweet One (6) and then the lone girl- Princess She-Beast (2). The Husband and I are so proud of our offspring. It simply radiates off of us. Oh wait, that is sweat. And embarrassment.

So join me in my attempt to chronicle our not so merry adventures. Hopefully you will find a laugh or two. Perhaps pee your pants. Just remember, it’s all in fun. I wouldn’t have so many children if I didn’t love them more than life itself and all that other crap. Geez.

Update: Since I don’t do this that often, the kids have gotten older. IMAGINE that. So now we have to rename them. We can still have The Teen (17), Weird Kid (almost 14 and YES- he knows I call him Weird Kid. He likes it.), The Mouth is STILL The Mouth (10- DOUBLE DIGITS, yo!) (totally not sure why I said “yo” there, but it felt like it needed to be there, so there you go). We will stick with The Sweet One but is sometimes known as the Sneaky One so they may be interchanged at random, depending on which one fits (almost 9) and Princess She-Beast (4- and yes, she actually thinks that Princess She-Beast is part of her name, just ask her).